


Must not forget to sing in the lifeboats

by BakedAppleSauce



Category: Trust (TV 2018)
Genre: (but... kind of), (not really) - Freeform, Burying a Body, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, First Time, LEAVE HIM ALONE, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, mostly - Freeform, there is a bit of plot, this is Primo's idea of hanging out ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29229435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakedAppleSauce/pseuds/BakedAppleSauce
Summary: Primo shows up on a Tuesday evening, entirely unannounced. Doesn’t even bother to get out of the car, like he just expects people to notice that he has arrived, the arrogant bastard.  The car sits there idling, but he’s not using the horn, so the situation, whatever it may be, probably isn’t that dire.“Ahh, fuck,” Leonard mutters to himself. Louder, he says, “Maybe don’t wait up for me.”In which some people go on a nice...datein the woods.(This is a sequel toEverything said should be true (not everything true should be said),but I feel like it's pretty self-explanatory.)
Relationships: Leonardo/Primo Nizzuto
Comments: 25
Kudos: 84





	Must not forget to sing in the lifeboats

Primo shows up on a Tuesday evening, entirely unannounced. Doesn’t even bother to get out of the car, like he just expects people to notice that he has arrived, the arrogant bastard. 

The car sits there idling, but he’s not using the horn, so the situation, whatever it may be, probably isn’t that dire. 

“Ahh, fuck,” Leonard mutters to himself. Louder, he says, “Maybe don’t wait up for me.”

“Be careful,” Regina tells him, and hands him his jacket for good measure, like he’s ten years old, despite the fact that they’re in late spring already, the promise of summer warm in the air. “Whatever it is.”

“Get in the car,” is the first and only thing Primo says, which is entirely expected. Leonardo sighs, resigned. The novelty has worn off by now. Old Donna Mandaglio, who spends all of her days staring out of her little window, observing the world from a safe distance like she’s watching a television program, waves them off. Primo has the audacity to wave back. 

“Where are we going?” Leonardo says after a few moments, already aware he’s not going to get an answer. He makes it a point to roll his eyes, and settles back into his seat, lighting a cigarette. Primo, still wearing his sunglasses, despite the fact that dusk has arrived and natural light is dwindling by the second, suspiciously watches him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Did something happen?” Leonardo says, just because he can, because he knows it will make him mind the road again. 

They keep driving for a while. Primo leaves the road behind at some point, takes a dirt road that leads them deep into the woods. It’s not exactly an area Leonardo is all that familiar with, even though he probably could find his way back home from the main road. Primo drives through the rapidly darkening forest like he has a certain goal in mind, but then again, who the fuck knows. There is only one direction to go in, after all, it’s not exactly complicated. 

After ten, maybe fifteen minutes, he finally slows down. Doesn’t seem like he’s stopped at any particular spot, Leonardo thinks, the dirt road still stretching out before them in the headlights of the car. Maybe he’s just satisfied they’ve gone far enough to be out of sight. He doesn’t move at first, just sits there for a long moment, staring straight ahead. 

It should be alarming, Leonardo thinks – they’re in the middle of the woods after all, alone in the darkness, and Primo seems… Leonardo wouldn’t call it unstable exactly, but something is definitely going on. And sure, Leonardo is starting to feel a bit wary at this point, but any sane person would probably fear for their life right about now, and all Leonardo can seem to muster is uneasy annoyance. 

It’s a more than familiar feeling where Primo is concerned, so it’s not even all that unsettling.

He decides that he can afford another question. 

“What did you do now?”

Primo blinks once, twice, like he’s just now coming back to reality. Turns towards him, both eyebrows raised nonchalantly like he has no idea what Leonardo might be referring to, but he’ll concede to being mildly interested.

“Oh, please,” Leonardo snaps. “Don’t tell me this is supposed to be a social call.”

Primo expression slips for a second, looking vaguely puzzled, like he’s thinking it through inside his own head, trying to figure out if this actually could have been misconstrued as a social call, or if Leonardo is just being sarcastic. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he says then, sounding almost petulant.  _ “He _ came at me.”

“Who?” 

Primo shoots him a long look,  _ who do you fucking think? _ which is rich, in all honesty, because the list of people who might want to come after him has probably tripled over the past few months; and he wasn’t exactly popular before.

“For  _ fuck’s _ sake,” Leonardo says and gets out of the car, because this conversation is clearly going nowhere. Primo doesn’t protest, doesn’t even try to stop him, which means Leonardo probably got the right idea. Mutters curses under his breath as he rounds the car, stalking towards the rear end with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

He half-expects to see Paul’s face staring back at him when he pops the trunk, wide-eyed and scared, like some cursed fucking boomerang he won’t be able to put back where it belongs for as long as he lives. Alas, the eyes staring back at him, dull and unseeing, are not Paul’s and they don’t look scared at all, because their owner is very much not alive. 

“This is  _ not _ my fault,” Primo’s voice says right next to him, making him flinch in surprise. 

_ “Mother _ of-” 

He didn’t even hear him get out of the car. 

_ “He _ came after  _ me,” _ Primo says again, with even more emphasis than before. “What the hell did you expect me to do?”

Like Leonardo is the one he owes an explanation in this situation. 

He looks young, Leonardo thinks bitterly, peering back into the trunk again, mid-twenties maybe. Old enough to not invoke any memories of Francesco… not yet, thank God. Small mercies. There is a bullet hole marring the temple, brunette hair matted down with dried blood. What a waste. 

“Just him?” he says uneasily, to say  _ something, _ get a handle on the situation.

“Unless you know something I don’t,” Primo says innocently.

“You’re hilarious,” Leonardo says dryly. Has already spotted the shovels, two of them, even though they’ll probably take turns, keeping one as a backup. Nothing more inconvenient than trying to bury a body in the middle of nowhere and then your only shovel breaks. The ground is damp enough at least, so between the two of them, it shouldn’t be too difficult to dig the damn hole. 

“What happened?” 

“Followed me around in his car,” Primo says with a shrug. He’s standing just a tad bit too close, almost touching but not quite. “Maybe he thought he was being subtle. Seen too many of those spy movies, I don’t know.”

Leonardo sighs, rubbing his forehead. 

“You make the first move?”

Primo gives him an unreadable look. 

“No,” he says then. “I waited him out. But he was being fucking obvious about everything, so… it probably wasn’t fair either way.”

“Probably not,” Leonardo says, not sure if the strange feeling spreading through his chest is pride or horror or grief. Maybe a mix of everything. Can’t go after somebody like Primo without a solid plan, he thinks, and even then it’d be a gamble at best. People like Primo get survival drilled into their bones from the very beginning, it’s all they know how to do. They have a sixth sense about that kind of thing. 

“Well,” Primo says, loud and chipper, like he’s glad they’ve had this conversation and ended up on the same page _.  _ “Let’s get this over with, huh?”

“Yeah…” Leonardo says quietly, resisting the urge to sigh again. “Let’s… yeah.”

They take turns digging, because that is the smart thing to do – avoid being in each other’s way too much, give the other person time to rest. It should probably bother him more that he knows this, Leonardo thinks, that he’s got his fair share of experience as far as these things are concerned. Can’t seem to bring himself to care. At the end of the day, it is what it is. 

He has one bad moment when they finally lift the body out of the car, cold and limp, struck by the way the head lolls from side to side, shadows falling over the slack face, like the kid might still be alive and they’re about to bury a living, breathing person. Realizes that Primo is watching him like a hawk, noticing the moment of weakness like he notices everything else. 

“We’re not going to burn him,” he offers, placating, like that might be any consolation, which… well. It  _ isn’t. _

Leonardo doesn’t bother with an answer, doesn’t say anything at all until they are about to put the body in the hole and then he snaps “Watch it!” because it seems Primo is planning on just… throwing him down there. That earns him a disbelieving stare and then Primo mutters _ “fine,”  _ like this is an entirely unreasonable request, and mirrors Leonardo, both of them sinking to their knees so they can lower the body into its grave carefully. 

Filling in the hole seems like the least appealing task in the world after that, if only because they just spent two hours doing the exact opposite. Leonardo is feeling tired and too hot by now, shirt sticking to his back with sweat. His arms haven’t started to go numb yet, but that can only be a matter of time. 

On top of it all, Primo has the audacity to look… well. Like he always looks. As usual, his short-sleeved shirt seems about two sizes too small on him. He’s covered in dirt, one streak cutting across his forehead, because his hair keeps falling into his eyes and he keeps pushing it back with one hand. It shouldn’t be endearing, Leonardo thinks. It  _ shouldn’t. _

(He honestly wishes he wouldn’t notice. Usually does, because it is distracting as hell even on a good day, but it seems especially inappropriate now.)

“Who knows,” Primo pants eventually. They’re about two thirds done with filling in the hole and they’re working both at the same time now, because it’s much less likely that a shovel is going to break doing _this,_ just moving the earth around, than actually digging into the ground. It’s the first thing anybody has said for the past hour. “Maybe you were in on this.”

“Ohhh yes,” Leonardo snaps, taking the bait. He’s grateful for the distraction, for the chance to let off some steam. “My cunning plan to take over everything – hire some kid to try and spectacularely fail to murder you, just so  _ you _ can drag  _ me _ into the woods in the middle of the fucking night to get rid of the evidence, and I get a chance to kill you with- what, my bare fucking hands? Yes, that’s fucking brilliant! Rise to power, here I come!”

Primo blinks at him, once, and then looks over to the car, staring at the trunk that is still popped open, at the invisible bag they both know contains his hunting rifle, like he’s making a suggestion.  _ Bare hands? What are you talking about? _

“Pretty decent plan,” he says then. It sounds like a compliment. 

“Oh please,” Leonardo says. “I ever wanted to  _ actually _ kill you-”

“Yes…?” Primo prompts, and he’s grinning now, because they both know where Leonardo was going with that, even if he doesn’t say it out loud. _ I’d do it in bed. _

“Shut up.”

“For future reference, there’s also a gun in the glove-” 

_“Shut_ _the fuck up_ before I hit you with this shovel.”

Primo actually has the nerve to snicker at him, looking like he’s enjoying himself of all things.

* * *

“I can’t go home like this,” Leonardo mutters later, not even sure if he intends for Primo to hear it. It’s a blatant lie anyway – of course he could. He isn’t even in that much of a state, all things considered, neither one of them is. Primo doesn’t comment, doesn’t try to call him out on it, but he does make a noise of agreement, and just like that, it's decided. 

They drive to his place. He is still renting, even though he has big plans. Is going to build his own house, Leonardo knows, because he’s had to look at the blueprints more than once, and also because Primo keeps asking for his opinion on things, just to turn around to do the exact opposite. Maybe he’s doing it on purpose. Leonardo wouldn’t put it past him.

By some miracle, he gets to shower first, and exhaustion catches up with him at long last under the spray of warm water. At the same time, he’s feeling wide awake, even though it must be past midnight by now, strange agitation running through him. It’s almost impossible they’ll get caught. Not down here, not when the dead kid was one of their own, which… he should ask Primo about the details. Last name, at the very least.

When he’s done showering, there are no fresh clothes, naturally; he would never fit into anything Primo owns. Hell, he thinks,  _ Primo _ barely fits into anything he owns. 

Once they’ve switched places and Primo has disappeared into the bathroom, Leonardo sits down on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid thinking about the grave in the woods, the patch of dirt they trampled down carefully, making sure the earth was packed as densely as possible. Could just take the car and leave, he thinks, amused at the idea. Go home, bring it back tomorrow morning. Primo would be livid. 

He stares off into space until the man in question comes ambling back into the bedroom, towel slung low around his narrow hips. He makes a face when he sees Leonardo sitting on the edge of the mattress, still wearing his trousers. 

“If you insist on wearing those, you can get off the bed.”

“What,” Leonardo says. “You want me to take them off?”

It feels absurd, almost like a parody of how these situations are usually supposed to go – the new up and coming boss telling his mistress what to do, except they’re  _ them _ and none of the pieces even remotely fit the narrative. Primo is just staring at him with his usual intensity, a big cat zeroing in on an unexpected movement somewhere in the distance that might be prey. 

_ “Quid pro quo, _ I believe is what they say,” Leonard murmurs. He wasn't even serious about it, is the thing. It was supposed to be a joke. He's not even sure if he's in the mood for sex right now… except that is evidently untrue, isn’t it, because why the fuck else would he have come here in the first place? Could’ve just gone home instead, enjoyed a quiet night in his own bed, peacefully sleeping next to his _ wife. _

Primo just rolls his eyes, looking vaguely amused at the same time, like he wanted to make another  _ professor  _ joke and graciously decided not to, and starts to pull off his towel, gets naked right then and there. 

Leonardo stares at him, once again taken aback and vaguely annoyed by how much the sight is doing for him. For his part, Primo looks triumphant – like he just won something, proved somebody wrong. He seems to enjoy being looked at, Leonardo has already realized that much, at least most of the time. Sometimes there’s a strange unease coming over him, one that Leonardo hasn’t quite figured out yet. 

Primo saunters over, comes to a stop between Leonardo’s spread thighs. It’s impossible not to touch him when he’s right there, so Leonardo does – fits both hands over his hips, pulling him in the rest of the way to suck a kiss to the skin underneath his hip bone. Primo makes a low, surprised noise, twitching forward. 

“Get on with it,” he says then, clearly trying to sound authoritative, which is always his least intimidating tone of voice, but Leonardo has no intention of telling him that. He gently pushes him backwards, just enough so he can get up, start to get rid of his own clothes. Primo doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t pull back either, so he’s almost uncomfortably close, watching Leonardo’s rapidly warming face as he gets naked himself. 

As soon as he’s done, Primo kisses him – once, a short, experimental peck, like they’ve never done this before. Like he’s trying to test the waters. Leonardo’s hands are on his hips again, fingers digging in without his permission. When he pulls him close, something shifts, something wild and unexpected and suddenly they’re on each other. 

Primo all but snarls at him when Leonardo spins them, pushes him down onto the bed and comes down heavily on top of him, but he’s clutching at him at the same time, legs curling around Leonardo’s waist, drawing him in. All of a sudden, Leonardo wants him like he’s never wanted anything in his life, mindless and greedy. Fuck if he could explain it. Primo tips his head up, hot breath ghosting over Leonardo’s chin, his cheek, the corner of his mouth and Leonardo kisses him again, lets Primo lick into his mouth.

They keep going like that for what seems like a long while, grappling half-heartedly as they’re rocking against each other. 

“Wait-” Primo pants eventually, pushing at his shoulders none-too-gently. “Wait,  _ Christ, _ would you just-” and then he’s scrambling, trying to reach the nightstand. Leonardo shudders when he realizes what the goal seems to be, can’t help but say, “what-” and “are you sure?” until Primo makes an impatient noise and says, “What, you think you’re here because we’re going to talk about my fucking feelings? Huh? Shut the fuck up and get on with it-” so Leonardo does. It’s not like he needs to be told twice.

He barely gets the chance to make it good, to do it right, Primo’s patience is wearing thin after what seems like the first minute, keeps hissing at him to get the fuck on with it, strangely antagonistic for all that he seems interested enough, cock barely even flagging; even though he can’t be all that comfortable yet. 

After another two minutes, he struggles up onto one elbow, gripping Leonardo’s wrist like a vice, even though he’s barely worked a second finger into him. Doesn’t say anything, but there’s murder on his face, flushed as it may be, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“This isn’t our fucking honeymoon,” he says, strangely breathless. “If you don’t want to fuck me, you can just leave.” Leonardo isn’t sure if it’s nerves or excitement or what. His own cock certainly doesn’t care all that much.

Primo makes a shocked noise when he first works his cock inside, like all the air got punched out of him, and then his breathing turns harsh. Leonardo can feel him go tense, fingers digging into Leonardo’s upper arm and shoulder, clutching at him like a man drowning might cling to a piece of driftwood. Leonardo hovers above him, doesn’t dare move. It feels fucking incredible already. 

It takes a  _ while  _ to get going, because Primo, for all his bravado, doesn’t give the go-ahead for a long time, noticeably trying and failing to relax. He keeps shifting, moving his legs around, pulling one of them up a bit more before letting it slide down again, keeps changing position ever so slightly, and it’s  _ maddening. _ He’s clearly not doing it on purpose, because he seems impatient, almost like he’s angry at himself, muttering cursing under his breath until Leonardo makes a harsh noise and kisses him again, all but bites at his mouth. He can’t remember the last time he felt this out of control, if ever. It’s glorious and terrifying at the same time. 

Primo kisses him back,  _ bites  _ back, too; sinks his teeth into Leonardo’s lower lip and then he murmurs, “What now, huh? That’s it? That’s what I’ve been waiting for, all of this time?” which would sound a lot more convincing if his voice wasn’t shaking. “Leo, don’t tell me this is how you really fuck, don’t tell me I was  _ right-” _

“Oh, I’ll show you  _ right-” _ Leonardo snarls back, nonsensically. “Why don’t you just shut the  _ fuck up _ and  _ let _ me-”

“Oh, by all means, show me what you got-” Primo says and then he makes another shocked sound, because Leonardo has pulled out, trying his hardest to be careful and not quite managing it, because he can feel the blood boil inside his veins, something base and animalistic rearing its head, something that makes him push back in with more force than he initially intended. Primo all but surges against him, whole body jolting at the sensation, huffing a desperate breath. 

“Like that?” Leonardo hisses. “Yeah? That what you had in mind?” 

“Yes,” Primo pants, gone completely pliant against him. “Yes,  _ fuck-  _ c’mon, like you mean it-”

There is nothing civil about it after that, for all that they can’t seem to stop kissing in between. Primo seems insatiable, or maybe he’s just trying not to moan too much, because he keeps coming back for more, like he’s all but starved for this kind of affection. Leonardo can’t help but wonder if that’s how he usually likes it – if he has a lot of control about what happens, when he goes out to fuck strangers (or maybe not even strangers) up in Rome. It seems impossible to imagine that he’d enjoy himself if he didn’t get to dictate what happens, but at the same time… who the fuck knows. 

Just look at him now, Leonardo thinks, if this is how he usually gets… and he’s definitely used to doing this part, used to getting fucked, arranging himself just so, moving with Leonardo easily. And all of a sudden he moans, a loud, unexpected sound that seems to be startled out of him. 

“Right there?” Leonardo says, because yeah, he’s being an asshole, but it still seems prudent to ask.

“Mh-hmmm,” Primo murmurs, sounding dazed in a way that has no right to be this fucking hot, that makes Leonardo want come on the spot.  _ “Fuck,  _ that’s-”

“Like that?”

“Slower,” Primo says. Doesn’t bristle at the question, doesn’t mock him for asking. “Slow down, just…  _ fuck- _ ”

“Yeah?" Leonardo says, honestly surprised, because he wasn’t quite expecting it. 

“Yeah,” Primo huffs, impatient, and he’s clutching at him again, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise. “Yeah,  _ fuck, _ you- just, keep-  _ hnn-” _

So Leonardo does as he’s told, not that it’s a hardship – settles in for the long haul, works him over as slow and steady as he can. Primo unravels by increments – gradually loosens up and gets more tense at the same time, a different kind of tension, stops gripping at Leonardo for dear life and starts pawing at him instead. 

“Ffffuck,” Primo huffs eventually, and then he’s fumbling for his own cock, starts to stroke himself, knuckles grazing Leonardo’s stomach, his hip bone. It seems unthinkable that he might get off like this, it seems  _ obscene, _ like it shouldn’t even be allowed to happen, like it should be entirely impossible. Primo, sharp, dangerous, clever Primo, about to have an orgasm with a cock up his ass, twisting this way and that, at the mercy of whatever Leonardo decides to give him, coming completely undone. 

Leonardo wants to come so badly he can practically taste it, but he grits his teeth and hangs on, and then Primo inhales, back arching, and seems to completely lose himself right then and there. He’s coming all over himself, hot stripes of come painting his own chest, head tipped back, mouth hanging open and Leonardo watches him for a long moment, enraptured, before he suddenly realizes that he’s going to lose it too, he’s  _ this  _ close, he’s going to- Jesus  _ fucking Christ- _

* * *

“So?” he mutters afterwards, stupidly, trying to pretend that he’s joking, even though… well. He isn’t, not really. They’ve managed to turn off the bedside lamp, so the room is blissfully dark, but haven’t moved much otherwise. Leonardo suspects they won’t, at least not before morning. “What’s the verdict?”

“Don’t know,” Primo says, sounding indifferent, but he’s been staring up at the ceiling with one arm underneath his head, still a bit out of breath. “Too early to tell.”

“I won’t dignify that with an answer,” Leonardo says, because he’s willing to bet it’s not the entire truth, anyway. He can’t be too sure in the darkness, but it almost looks like the corner of Primo’s mouth twitches, amused by the blatant contradiction.

And well, Leonardo thinks, eyelids growing heavey, finally starting to feel somewhat tired. 

He’ll take it.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi [on tumblr!](https://bakedapplesauce.tumblr.com/)


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